


Dancing Bears, Painted Wings

by owlways_and_forever



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anastasia - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-07-28 17:32:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7650016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlways_and_forever/pseuds/owlways_and_forever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma doesn’t remember anything before she started living at the orphanage when she was eight. She has no idea who her family is, or if they’re even out there, but she’s dying to know. Can Killian Jones shed some light on her past, or is he just a no-good scoundrel?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So this started out because I watched the movie Anastasia and I was watching it and I was just like, woahhhh, there’s some real similarities here, this could make a great fic! So then I had to start writing, naturally. This multichapter will probably be on the shorter side (chapters-wise), but we’ll see. Hopefully it’ll be finished before I go back to school though. Also, yeah, I changed Neal’s name. I hated that they named him that. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!!!

Emmeline sat at her little powder table, eyeing her reflection in the mirror and dabbing a little bit of rouge onto her lips. She wasn’t usually allowed to wear things like rouge, as she was only eight, but since it was a special occasion, she was permitted to dress up a little extra. Her mother had gone all out for the ball, for it was to be the last of the season, before true winter set in, and would serve as the farewell to the Queen Mother, who would depart in the morning for warmer regions.

“Excuse me, Miss?” a small boy’s head appeared around the doorway, and Emmeline recognized him vaguely. He was the son of one of the cooks, or something like that; he often did small chores to help out the kitchen staff.

“Yes?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at the intrusion.

“I brought you a cup of hot cocoa,” the boy answered, taking a step into her splendidly decorated room to show her the china mug in his hands, filled to the brim with dark, creamy liquid.

“Thank you,” Emmeline said, and she motioned for him to put it down on the vanity.

Quickly, but careful not to spill so much as a drop, the boy moved forward, delicately placing the cup on the polished wood.

“Anything else I can get you, Miss?” he asked with a slight bow.

“No, thank you,” she replied, shaking her head so that the blonde curls bounced.

He backed out of the room and Emmeline picked up the cup, sipping on the delicious hot chocolate and letting it warm her body. It was one of her favorite things, and he had even sprinkled cinnamon on top, just the way she liked it. Carefully, Emmeline selected a light blue ribbon from her collection, tying a box expertly in her blonde tresses.

Emmeline crossed the room to where her gown was laid out on her bed, a pretty thing of blue silk and white organza. She pulled it on over her slip and reached around the back, trying to do up the laces, but she couldn’t quite manage. She struggled, frowning, trying as hard as she could to stretch her arms far enough to pull at the laces, but it was to no avail.

There was a soft knock on the door, and the Queen stepped into the room into the room, smiling softly at her daughter’s struggle.

“Come, sweetheart,” she said, and crossed the room to assist the princess.

With deft fingers, she pulled the laces tight and tied them in a secure bow, before spinning her daughter around to take her in.

“You look beautiful, my dear,” the Queen smiled.

“Thank you, Mama,” Emmeline replied, grinning as her mother fingered her curls. “Not as beautiful as you, though.”

“You’re very kind,” the Queen said, her own black curls bound in a delicate knot at the base of her neck, a crown glittering on her head. She wore a deep purple gown made from velvet, with gold embroidery throughout, and it looked positively stunning on her. “Come now, it’s time to make our entrance.”

Emmeline took her mother’s hand and the two walked together through the palace, their footsteps echoing on the marble. They reached the set of double doors that led to the Grand Ballroom, and found the King, the little Prince, and the Queen Mother waiting on them.

“Children first,” the herald instructed, and Emmeline stepped forward, taking her younger brother’s hand.

The large, gilded oak doors swung open, and Emmeline saw sparkle of the room beyond, making her heart leap with excitement. There were more people than she had seen since the celebration of her brother’s birth, all of them wearing their best dresses and suits and jewels. It was magical.

“Princess Emmeline and Prince James!” the herald announced, and there was an outburst of applause as all eyes turned to the grand staircase.

Emmeline tightened her grip on her brother’s hand and stepped forward, into the dazzling light emanating from the many chandeliers. The applause grew louder, and Emmeline smiled broadly, reveling in the attention of all the courtiers. She _loved_ being a princess. As she started descending the stairs, careful to help her brother, on his unsteady toddler legs, she heard her grandmother announced behind her. The Queen Mother joined her granddaughter on the staircase and scooped up the little Prince into her arms, replacing his hand in his sister’s with her own. Together, the three of them made their way to the ballroom floor. When they reached the polished parquet, the doors at the top of the staircase opened once more, and the Kind and Queen made their entrance. The hall positively exploded with applause, so beloved were they, and Emmeline beamed at her parents as they floated elegantly toward their guests.

“My wife and I are so pleased you could all join us,” the King said, projecting his voice as much as possible. “We hope you enjoy this night –“

“I think not, dearie,” a voice cackled above them, and Emmeline turned to see a scaly, sneering man standing at the top of the staircase. “Tonight your rule, your dynasty, _your_ _line_ , shall at last, come to an end. Time to _pay your price,_ dearie.”

The man stepped down the stairs dramatically, the clicking of his boots on the marble loud in the silent room. People gasped in fear and backed away, and Emmeline clutched the skirt of her mother’s gown, though she tried to put on a brave face. She must always be an example to her people, her mother had taught her that.

“Now, how would you like to die?” the man cackled, leering at the King.

“In old age,” the King hissed back, drawing his sword from its scabbard and sweeping his family behind him.

“Dear, dear, I don’t think that’s very likely,” the imp chuckled, snapping his fingers so that a sword appeared in his own hand. “We must set the mood.” With another snap of his fingers, the sky outside the large windows darkened to an ominous gray, and thunder cracked every few seconds, the wind howling and growing in ferocity.

The King lunged, his sword jabbing forward in the direction of the magician, but he was easily parried. He lunged again, to no avail. The imp seemed to be toying with King David, fighting with uncommon ease. As their fighting grew more intense, so did the storm that raged outside, shattering windows to the screams of nearby guests. As Emmeline watched the fight unfurl, she did not know which frightened her most – the struggle of her father to gain an upper hand, or the storm that threatened to blow them all away – but she felt her heart beating fast in her throat. The fight between the two men intensified, turning against the King, and Emmeline was tempted to hide her face, but she kept watching. The imp reigned blow after blow down upon the King, who was barely able to parry them, until finally he broke through the King’s defenses, slashing right across his chest. Emmeline screamed as her father fell to his knees, knuckles whitening on the hilt of his sword as he free hand tried to stop the blood from pouring forth.

As the King fell to the ground, chest heaving for air and a fresh tide of blood surging forth with each breath, the storm violently ripped the roof off the hall, and screams echoed through the room, people running in every direction. The Queen fell to her knees next to her husband, calling out his name and trying to keep his eyes from closing for good.

“Emmeline, run!” she shouted, looking up to see the imp advancing toward their family with a predatory look in his eyes.

The Princess did not need to be told twice. She turned and ran as fast as she could, into the crowd of people that were trying to flee to safety. She did not know where to go, where she would be safe from this man, so she simply kept running, trying to hide herself among the mass of bodies.

“Miss!” a voice hissed in her ear, and she turned her face to see the boy who had brought her the cocoa earlier. “Follow me!”

He took her hand and pulled her to the side, pushing away a tapestry and dragging her through the hallway that was hidden behind it. It was dark in the passageway, despite the torches lit high in the wall. It was a servants’ passage, she knew, she had played in enough of them to recognize one. The boy stopped suddenly, running his hands over the wall panels.

“Here,” he said, and he pushed on the corner of one panel. It sprung open, revealing another hidden passage, this one dark and dank. “Go, through there, quickly. It leads to the outside. And take this.”

He held out his hands, a plain green overcoat in them, and Emmeline took in from him. She took him in, for the first time, her eyes raking over his messy dark hair, the color in his cheeks, his bright blue eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, earnestly, before turning and running into the little passage.

The passage smelled terribly, and the cobbled stones were making her feet ache through the thin slippers she wore. She tripped and fell, getting dirt and grime all over her pretty dress, and making her hands sting. Emmeline felt like crying, like curling up right there in the passageway and sobbing until death came for her, like it surely had for her whole family by then, but she pressed on, taking deep, shuddering breaths to steady herself. Finally, she reached the end of the passage, and she pushed hard against the wall, so that it opened onto the fresh air outside the palace, far from the Grand Ballroom. She could see flames flickering inside it now.

Emmeline stepped out into the snow, and began walking briskly toward one of the side gates few knew of. Once she was outside the palace grounds, the city was quickly upon her, and she ran through the cobbled streets, trying to think of where to go, where she might be safe. Emmeline was so lost in thought, trying to find a safe haven, that she paid little attention to her steps, and her foot caught on a raised stone, sending her sprawling across the street. Her head hit a step into one of the houses, and pain seared through her skull. She tried to blink it away, but she could not, and then… darkness.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry it’s been so long since I updated this, I had a heavy work week, but I also wanted to finish Punch Drunk before I kept going. I also want to add this to @cshiatuschallenge for the Day 84 prompt. Thanks for all the positive reviews and encouragement! Enjoy this chapter!

Emma shut the door of the orphanage behind her and wrapped the shawl more tightly around her shoulders, looking left at right. She was entirely at a loss for where to go, having no arrangements now that she was eighteen. Granny had been kind enough to give her the address of a tavern where she might find work, if she so desired, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Not that she didn’t want to work, just that, working in a tavern somehow didn’t feel right. Though it wasn’t like she had many options.

Emma set off walking east, toward the center of town, until something small and furry caught her eye. She approached it warily, and found a tiny brown pup shivering in the doorway of an apartment.

“Hello there little thing,” she whispered, crouching down beside it and running her hand over its back. “Have you been left here all on your own?”

The little dog gave a tiny high-pitched yip, its ears perking up at the sound of her voice.

“I’m all alone too,” Emma said, sliding her hands under the pup’s belly and scooping it up into her arms. She adjusted her shawl so that it was wrapped around the little pup as well as herself, and she held the dog tight, trying to pass warmth between them. “You can stay with me, if you like.”

Again, the dog gave a soft bark, and then proceeded to squirm until his head was buried in her neck, nuzzling his face against her skin.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she giggled, stroking the pup’s head and scratching behind its ears. “I shall call you Henry.”

Emma walked some time, all the while petting Henry and murmuring absentmindedly to him, about her dreams and hopes and wishes. As they were walking past the old palace, Emma’s eyes were caught by the flicker of a light in some of the windows. She stopped in her tracks and turned to face the elaborate façade, sure that it had not been a trick of the light. She strained her eyes in the direction of the windows, and sure enough, she could just make out a faint light, as though someone was walking around by candlelight inside. Emma told herself that this could not be the case, that the palace had been boarded up for as long as she could remember, but curiosity gripped her. She looked left and right, but there was no one else on the streets to see her, so she slipped in through the back gate, careful to keep to the shadows as she crept around the side of the palace, looking for a way in. It was true, all the doorways had long ago been boarded up, but as Emma made her way around, she found a window that was low enough that she could hoist herself through with any luck. She reached up and placed Henry on the ledge, waiting for him to jump down before she heaved herself up. As she turned her legs inside, she looked around, seeing that she seemed to be in the kitchen. A candelabra stood on one of the wooden tables, ad Emma snatched it up, looking for a match to light it. She rummaged through drawers, but only found an old piece of flint, but she snatched it up all the same, and after a few minutes managed to get sparks to ignite the candles.

Slowly, aware that there was someone else in the palace, Emma walked through the halls, her slippered feet making hardly any sound on the marble floors. The paintings on the walls amazed her, dozens of portraits of men in armor, women in fancy dress. At the end of the hall was a set of stairs, and she climbed them, unable to keep her curiosity in check. Another hallway, with elaborate doors spaced in between the paintings, and Emma couldn’t help but open them. In one, a little nursery, the walls hung with blue silks and green organza, a mobile of sailboats still hanging over the little prince’s bed. A few doors down, a larger chamber, with a miniature dressing table and lilac silks on the walls, a white organza canopy framing the miniature bed. The princess’ room. It held a certain familiarity for Emma, though she could not place way, and she found herself crossing to the vanity and running her hands over the wood, her fingertips caressing the silk ribbons. She felt uneasy, and backed out of the room, afraid of the feelings it instilled in her.

Emma continued through the halls, eventually reaching beautiful gilded oak double doors. With some effort, she pushed them open, the hall beyond glittering in the light of her candles, leaving her breathless. A grand staircase unfolded below her, ending on a glittering gold parquet floor, and fanning out to the ballroom. It was dark, only the light from her candles and the moon through the windows brightening the many chandeliers, but still she could see, and she felt memories prickling at the back of her mind. Slowly, Emma walked down the stairs, her hand gliding over the banister, and she felt, for a moment, like a princess. There was a large portrait across the ballroom, atop a raised dais, and Emma found herself drawn to it. In it, painted larger than life, were the images of a man, with blond hair and a charming smile, and a woman, with long black curls and smiling eyes. In front of them stood a little girl, with her father’s blonde hair and her mother’s green eyes, and a mischievous glint in her expression. Her hand clutched the chubby hand of her toddler brother, and Emma reached out her own fingers to touch the painted ones. Something about them made them feel so real in her mind, as though she had once held them herself, though she knew that could not be possible. The prince was dead, the princess dead, the king and queen dead. Killed by the treacherous Rumplestiltskin, in this very room. It was a story everyone knew, one many still remembered, after all it had not been so long ago. People sometimes whispered that the princess had escaped, had survived, but that was just the wishful thinking of a realm who wanted to be free from their new ruler.

Emma was so caught up in her inspection of the painting, that she never noticed the man watching her from the shadows of a side room. As Killian Jones watched her, he could not help but notice that the picture she was so fascinated on seemed more like a mirror than a painting. She was beautiful, for sure, and precisely like what he imagined the princess would look like as an adult. Even the way she held herself showed pride and demanded respect. _Yes, she would be perfect_ , he thought to himself.

Shaking her head to clear her mind, Emma backed away from the painting and the strange memories it brought her, knowing that it was just her imagination. She had never seen this room filled with nobles in glittering dress, worn fancy silks or danced with the king. Emma walked through the grand hall, towards side rooms that led back to the kitchen, Henry padding along by her feet, and she decided it was time to leave, having found no sign of anyone else in the abandoned palace. She hurried out the same window she entered through, and picked her way back across the snow toward the cobbled streets. Her heart sank a little as she directed her steps toward the address written on the scrap of parchment in her pocket. She so desperately wanted to find somewhere else to go, but she had to face the reality that she just didn’t have an alterative.

By the time she arrived at the tavern, Emma was cold and shivering, eager for a warm fire where she could relieve the chills wracking her body. It was somewhat busy inside, but not so much that she couldn’t find a table to herself, ordering a meal to enjoy with the small allowance she had been given before her departure from the orphanage. She would need to talk to the owner about a job, but that could wait until after she had filled her belly and warmed her body.

A few minutes after she had sat down, two handsome men entered the tavern, their eyes scanning the crowd before settling on Emma. The blond man nodded towards his companion, and the two of them walked over to her, sitting down across from her without asking.

“Hello, love,” Killian said, licking his lips seductively as he leaned into his good hand. “Allow me to introduce my companion, James Nolan –“ he waved vaguely toward the blond beside him “- and myself, Killian Jones.”

“That’s great,” Emma replied sharply, her displeasure apparent, “but why are you bothering me?”

“Apologies, lass,” Killian answered, bowing his head slightly. “James and I were wondering if, perhaps, you had heard about the Princess Ava’s latest quest?”

“Who is Princess Ava?” Emma sighed, going along with whatever it was this guy wanted for the moment, hoping that it would get rid of him faster.

“She is the sister of the late Queen,” James spoke up at last, and Emma thought she picked up on a note of sadness in his voice, “and she has initiated a search for the Princess Emmeline. She, like so many, hopes the Princess is still alive.”

“Well that’s great for her,” Emma said, turning her attention back to the stew that was going cold in front of her, “but what does that have to do with me?”

“Nothing,” James hastened to answer. “But…”

“But we couldn’t help but notice how remarkably like her you look,” Killian finished, his piercing blue eyes never leaving Emma.

“The Princess?” she clarified.

“Aye,” he nodded, and Emma laughed.

“That’s ridiculous,” she stated. “I couldn’t possibly be a Princess, I grew up in an orphanage.”

“Well then you don’t know who your parents are,” Killian argued. “For all you know, they could very well be the King and Queen.”

“No, I…” Emma started, but she trailed off. He was right, for all she knew, she could be royalty. But the odds were she wasn’t, it was simply ridiculous to think it was possible.

“Could I ask,” James began hesitantly, his voice practically a whisper, “do you remember the night the royal family fell?”

“No,” Emma answered slowly, slightly put off by the expression on his face, like pain and hope at the same time. “No, it was before I can remember.”

“Then you don’t really know, do you?” he continued, eyes fixed on her.

“James and I could take you to her,” Killian interjected, his eyes sparkling as though he knew he’d already won. “We have, ah, business in the region anyway. She would certainly be able to enlighten you.”

Emma considered the offer carefully. It really couldn’t do any harm, if this Princess Ava didn’t know her, it would just be an honest mistake. If she did recognize her, it would give Emma an identity, a past, a _family_ , something she had craved her whole life.

“And what would you want from me?” she asked, glaring at the two of them, certain they must have a price.

“Just for you to try your best…” Killian winked, his tongue darting out wickedly again.

“Deal,” Emma said, not at all sure she was making the right decision.

“Excellent,” Killian grinned, reaching forward to rip a piece off her bread, popping it into his mouth. “Now, love, do you have a name?”

“Emma,” she answered, and she didn’t miss the look that was exchanged between the two men, though she couldn’t quite decipher it. It was as though something had just clicked in their minds.


End file.
